


What's Green, Gold, and Annoying as Fuck?

by missmichellebelle



Series: Tropetember [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Cheerleader!Ian, Cheerleaders, Fluff, High School, Humor, M/M, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-15 22:44:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2246100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmichellebelle/pseuds/missmichellebelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If there’s one thing I fucking know in life, it’s that male cheerleaders are fags.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Green, Gold, and Annoying as Fuck?

**Author's Note:**

> **Tropetember** is a month long event where the goal is to write a fic fulfilling a different trope/AU every day. If there is a specific trope/AU you would like to see, please [drop me an ask on tumblr](http://missmichellebelle.tumblr.com/ask).
> 
> I absolutely made up some fictional high school, because I have no idea if there's a fandom-accepted real high school that the Gallaghers attended.
> 
> I have never written Mandy to this extent.
> 
> Also because Cam in a fucking cheerleading outfit (you know you want it).

“What do you think of cheerleaders?” Mandy asks him randomly one Saturday afternoon while they play video games.

“Huh?” Mickey mumbles back, distracted as he mashes buttons on his controller. “Shit, spitter, spitter!”

“I see it!” Mandy yells back, and then it’s down. She’s always been good for a headshot. “No, but what do you think?”

“About what?”

“Cheerleaders, fucktard. Don’t you ever listen to me when I’m talking?” Mandy sticks out her elbow, trying to get past Mickey’s arm to hit him in his gut, and they struggle against each other for a moment.

“You are going to—fuck, fuck, jockey’s on me,” Mickey hisses.

“I got it, I got it, just—“

“Fucking Ellis, do something!” Mickey huffs and drops his controller into his lap. “I’m down.”

“You can still shoot, douchebag, jesus.” Mandy rolls her eyes. “You going to answer my question or what?”

“The fuck you want to know my opinion on cheerleaders, huh?” Like Mickey even _has_ one. He doesn’t exactly sit around watching sports, and when else would he have ever seen a cheerleader? “Fucking finally,” Mickey mutters as he’s helped up.

“I don’t know, I guess I was just—thanks,” Mandy says quickly as Mickey shoots down a horde coming up her left side. “I was just thinking about maybe being one.”

“Being what?” Mickey grins as he snipes a boomer.

“A cheerleader.”

Mickey pauses the game completely and turns to stare at his sister.

“I’m sorry, what the _fuck_ did you just say?”

“I’m thinking about being a cheerleader.” Mandy stares him down, and Mickey can’t see or hear any trace of sarcasm.

“Like… As a prank?” Mandy smacks his upper arm. “ _Christ_.”

“Fuck you, you don’t think I can do it?” Mandy glares at him.

“Wear skimpy outfits? Sure. You already do that. The whole school spirit shit?” Mickey looks his sister up and down. “I’ll believe it when I fucking see it.”

“You’re an asshole,” Mandy mutters.

“You saying I’m wrong? Like those girls aren’t the ones you’ve been making fun of and bitching about the last three years?”

“Not _all_ of them are bad,” Mandy defends.

“Yeah? Since when?” Mickey raises an eyebrow in her direction, and when she doesn’t answer, he goes to unpause the game. “You drinking the punch, Mands?”

“Fuck off.” She kicks her foot into his thigh. “And a few weeks, all right? There’s this guy—“ Mickey makes a disgruntled noise and stops the game again.

“Seriously? This cheerleading thing is about getting into some guy’s pants?” Mickey shouldn’t be surprised, but this is a new angle, even for her. “You going after some meat-head jock or something? I thought most of those fuckers had already ridden you ‘round the block.”

“Fucking classy, Mick. You do remember I’m your baby sister, right?”

“Doesn’t stop you from being a slut.”

Mandy scoffs, rolls her eyes again.

“It’s not like that this time, this guy is… Different.” Mandy bites her bottom lip. “He’s _nice_. Not like the fake nice guys are just to fuck you, ya know? Like actually fucking nice.”

Not like he’d need it. Mandy fucks who she wants, even if they treat her like shit. It’s kind of fucked up, but they’re all kind of fucked up. Part of being a Milkovich, he supposes.

“Nice enough to wave pompoms for?” Mickey sneers, and she doesn’t respond—just grabs for his controller to unpause the game. “Hey!”

“Hunter.”

“Mother _fucker_.”

“Are you down again? You fucking suck at this.”

“Fuck you.”

*

It doesn’t feel like a trap when Mandy asks him if he’s busy that Friday, so he says _no_ because he isn’t. Mandy doesn’t mention what she’s after right then, and Mickey pushes it from his mind. He stopped trying to make sense of Mandy’s weird power plays years ago.

“Take a shower and wear something decent, fuckface, we’re going out,” Mandy snipes at him Friday afternoon, and Mickey doesn’t move an inch from where he’s lounging on the couch.

“Where?”

“Does it matter? There’ll be food, and I’m buying.”

Free food. Mickey figures that’s worth a shower.

They’ve been walking for about twenty minutes when the route suddenly seems familiar to Mickey. He furrows his eyebrows, but it’s not until he sees the glow of stadium lights that it hits him where they’re going.

“The fucking _high school?_ ” Mickey snarls, turning on his sister harshly. She doesn’t even falter in her steps.

“There’s a game tonight. Ian invited me.”

“Who the _fuck_ is Ian and why the fuck should I give a shit?” Mickey is all set to turn around when Mandy grabs his arm. Not that he couldn’t easily get out of it if he wanted to.

“Remember the guy?” Mandy gives him a significant look. Mickey stares at her confusion.

“Wanna be more fucking vague?”

Mandy growls in frustration.

“The nice guy? The cheerleader thing? You sucking ass at Left 4 Dead 2?”

Mickey flips her off.

“The fuck does any of that have to do with me?”

“Like you have anything better to do tonight than sit at home getting high, eating soggy fruit loops, and watching Pawn Stars.”

Mickey has no idea why she says it like it’s a _bad_ thing. Getting high and watching Pawn Stars is something they used to fucking do together, after all. Until all this cheerleader bullshit happened.

“I didn’t even fucking go to these lame ass things when I was in high school, what the fuck made you think I’d go now?” Mickey shakes Mandy off his arm finally, and the fact that she lets him means she thinks she has the upper hand. Which is funny as shit, but he’ll let her have the false sense of security.

“I don’t fucking know, moral support?” Mandy shoves him, and he stumbles back a step or two, glaring at her in return. “Maybe act like my brother for once in your fucking life.”

Mickey’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead, eyes widening as he adopts an overly dramatic look of surprise.

“‘Scuse me? You sayin’ that me hitting out Andy DeMarco’s kneecaps with a crow bar last month wasn’t brotherly?” Punk had fucking stood Mandy up. “Fuck if I’m ever doing shit for you again.” It’s an empty threat, and they both know it the second it spits angrily past Mickey’s lips.

“Come on, it’s just for the half-time cheerleader shit, then we can leave,” Mandy wheedles. “You can just hang out under the bleachers if you want. Pretty sure there’s a guy that sells pot there.” Like Mickey is going to waste money on product from some wimpy ass teenager when he has his own back home, where he could be right now, getting high. Fuck, they both could be.

“You think I’m going to trust that weak ass shit? The quality is so bad it basically makes you more sober.” Mickey is pretty sure that spells his answer out pretty fucking clearly, but Mandy is just looking up at him, mouth pinched in a pout, eyes all big and— “Fucking seriously with the face, Mands?” Mickey growls, looking away, but he can still tell that Mandy is looking at him, and his shoulders hunch. “ _Shit_ ,” he hisses, bravado failing in the wake of his sister.

Fuck her and knowing his soft spots. 

“Will you fucking stop already, bitch, I’ll go,” he growls, and she smiles at him, starting to tug him down the sidewalk again towards—jesus—the sounds of cheering and _is that a fucking marching band?_ “You fucking owe me so hard.”

Mickey can’t believe he’s about to go to a high school football game stone-cold sober.

*

Mickey didn’t know people actually _went_ to football games. Back when he still felt like going to high school, he’d just assumed no one gave a shit. He certainly didn’t. He cut every one of those fucking pep rallies. But maybe there was something to them, because the stands are packed with people. There are even fucking parents there. It’s like a fucking ABC special or some shit.

Even Mandy looks uncomfortable with all the people, and there’s a silent agreement that they aren’t even going to make an attempt. They lean straight on the railing, as far away from the possibility of touching another person as they can manage.

“Hey!” A voice squawks behind them, and Mickey turns with slow, cold, dangerous precision.

“You got a fucking problem?” He asks, and the girls sitting there clam up and go silent. Mickey fucking thought so. He turns back around and digs in his back pocket for his cigarettes, offering the box to Mandy after he’s fished one out. “So where’s this nice boy of yours? He on the field or what?” Mickey lights up his cigarette and sucks on it greedily. If he can’t get fucked up while he’s here, at least he can smoke.

His eyes trace the game lazily, but Mickey never cared much for football. Too many rules. But he can’t help but wonder which one has Mandy’s morals all straightened out and shit.

“What?” Mandy turns to look at him in confusion. “He’s on the track with the rest of them.” Without any sense of shame, she gestures towards the yelling mob in green and gold not far bellow the stands. Towards the _cheerleaders_. “The redhead,” Mandy clarifies, and Mickey’s eyes bug so much they nearly fall out of his head.

“Hold up, the guy is a _cheerleader?_ “ The laugh is starting in Mickey’s throat before he’s even aware of it. “You fucking kidding me, Mandy?”

“What?” She frowns, crossing her arms. The cigarette Mickey had offered her is sitting behind her ear, unlit. “What the fuck’s wrong with that?” As if to make the whole situation, the cheerleaders start leading a cheer, and Mickey’s almost bent over the bar laughing. A fucking _male cheerleader_. 

“Mands, you got shit for brains or something?” Mickey looks at her incredulously. “You’ve gotta be kidding. If there’s one thing I fucking know in life, it’s that male cheerleaders are fags.” He bestows this information on her with all the glee figuratively kicking his sister in the gut ever gives him, as well as a shit-eating grin.

Mandy looks ready to commit murder at the suggestion. Mickey grabs fast at the railing—he wouldn’t put it past her to shove him over the barricade. “Shut the fuck up, he is not!” She doesn’t push him, but she does smack him pretty fucking hard.

“Bitch.” Mickey leans on the rails and looks over at the cheerleaders. “So which one you fag-hagging for? The redhead?” There’s only five guys with the cheerleaders—and fucking seriously, five male cheerleaders? How the fuck is there even _one?_ —and there’s only one redhead among them. “He looks like a fucking leprechaun in that green and gold get-up! You hot for that sort of thing?”

“I fucking hate you,” Mandy glowers, and Mickey thinks maybe this whole night won’t be complete torture.

“He just did a fucking split!” Mickey points out with delight, and Mandy kicks him in the shin.

*

Despite Mickey’s fucking gift of wisdom, Mandy still moons over the faggy leprechaun. It’s pretty fucking revolting. And, as it turns out, cheerleaders are annoying as _fuck_ , which means Mandy wouldn’t have trouble being one at all (he tells her so). But really, it makes Mickey wish he had stuff to chuck at them so they’d shut the fuck up. Who the fuck enjoys all that fucking hollering anyway?

The first half of the game ends, and Mandy visibly perks up. Mickey side-eyes her, and watches as she waves with more enthusiasm than he’s ever seen her do _anything_ towards the field. It isn’t a surprise that, when he follows her line of sight, that she’s waving at the firecrotch. He’s not waving nearly as enthusiastically, which Mickey is about to point out when the guy’s sight drifts to Mandy’s right—and to Mickey.

The guy fucking _waves_ , and Mickey stares back in confusion. “The fuck?” He mutters, but whatever half-time cheerleading thing Mandy was talking about is starting, and Mickey’s voice is drowned out by the sound of loud, upbeat, dance music.

Mickey is going to fucking kill someone.

Shit music aside, Mickey’s gotta admit that what the cheerleaders are doing now is a lot more enjoyable than all those cheesy as fuck cheers. It’s like dancing, he guesses, but with more flips and shit. People are yelling and screaming and are somehow _still_ louder than the fucking music, especially given that his sister is up on the first rail bar and swinging an arm around like she’s at a fucking concert.

Is this guy like drugging her or something? Mickey can’t even watch her get into it. It’s like a fucking train wreck.

Mickey stares back at the commotion on the field and remembers being in high school and guys lusting after cheerleaders in short skirts, and Mickey had pretended alongside them as vulgarly as possible. There hadn’t been guy cheerleaders then, and while it’s still funny as _fuck_ , he watches them out there on the field and kind of gets what all those dudes were talking about when he was 15.

Cheerleaders are kind of _hot_. They’re all, like, bendy and flexible and shit, and strong? Mickey never thought of cheerleaders as strong, but the guys are throwing those girls into the air like they weigh next to nothing.

It isn’t hard to find Mandy’s nice boy—his fucking red hair stands out like a homing beacon. He’s hoisting a girl into the air, and then catches her, and then looks _straight the fuck at Mickey again_. Or maybe Mandy. It’s hard to tell at this distance.

By the time the routine is over, Mickey’s mouth is significantly dryer, and his cock is a little hard.

Fucking _male cheerleaders_.

*

The cheerleaders clear the field after the show, and Red makes a beeline straight for them.

“Mandy!” He calls, waving with a bit more vigor as he comes closer. The next thing Mickey knows, he’s grabbing onto the railing and dragging himself up so that he’s balancing opposite them. _Shit_. “And… Mandy’s boyfriend?” His gaze snaps to Mickey curiously.

Mickey nearly wretches at the implication.

“Shit no, gross. This is my dick brother, Mickey.” The back of Mandy’s hand smacks against his chest, and Mickey just jerks his chin in greeting.

“Cool. I’m Ian.” Ian grins at him, and their eye contact lasts like a freakishly long time before Ian turns his attention back to Mandy.

All of a sudden, Mickey’s not sure if he wants to be right about the whole gay male cheerleader thing—or if he _really_ fucking wants it to be right.

“I didn’t think you’d show. This doesn’t really seem like your kind of scene.” Ian gestures around them—there’s a guy yelling about chips behind them, and the marching band has taken the field. Mickey keeps looking at the way Ian’s neck is beaded with sweat.

“Told you I would, didn’t I?” She grins and goes to smack him, much lighter than she ever hits Mickey, and he laughs as he shies away from the touch. “You fucking nailed it.”

“Nah.” Ian’s nose scrunches up. “My footing was off during the toss. I totally thought I was going to drop Marissa and she was going to break her fucking neck.” He reaches up and scratches his nose, and his eyes flick to Mickey again. “Guess I was distracted.”

Mickey’s eyebrows furrow. Did he just imagine that?

“So what are you guys doing after the game?” Ian continues on.

“We’re probably going to leave soon. I came to see you, not watch some meatheads run around with a ball.” Mandy wrinkles her nose, and Ian laughs again.

“Aw, come on, not a football fan?” Ian teases good-naturedly. “But you guys should stick around. One of the girls is throwing a party at her house after. You two should come.” Ian _definitely_ fucking looks at him that time.

“Yeah?” Mandy asks, sounding excited, and the idea of her at some fucking football game after-party makes Mickey snort.

“You both knock yourselves out. I’mma head out.” Mickey has some Halo 3 and a couple of beers in his future, and hopefully by then he won’t feel any shame for jacking off to Ian in that fucking outfit in the shower. He wets his lower lip, and it takes Mickey a moment to realize that Ian saw him do it.

“Not _your_ thing?” Ian asks, extending his arms so that he’s hanging away from the bars. If he lost his grip, he’d probably crack his fucking head open from the fall.

“Nothing is his thing,” Mandy informs Ian with a haughty roll of her eyes, and Mickey flips her off. He doesn’t do high school _anything_ , and he especially doesn’t do high school _parties_.

“We could do something else?” Ian offers, and both of the Milkoviches turn on him with astounded looks, before they both start talking at once.

“No, seriously, fuck him, let’s just go to the party, Ian. That’s what you want to do, right? Just fucking forget about him.”

“Look, Lucky Charms, all I want to do is go home and play video games, so you go and fucking do whatever it is you school spirited assholes like to do.”

“I like video games,” Ian says, and Mickey looks around himself like someone is pulling some sort of shit prank on him. What the fuck is this guy’s deal? He turns to Mandy, wondering if maybe she could fucking translate or something, but she’s staring at Ian like he’s just deflated the air right out of her. And Ian doesn’t even notice the hopeless look on her face, because he’s staring right at Mickey.

Mickey stares back—he’s not afraid of some freaky, pussy cheerleader.

“I’m _boss_ at Halo,” Ian continues, the smirk on his face challenging and playful, and Mickey blinks at him.

“Fuck that, no one kicks my ass at Halo.”

“You wanna bet?” And Ian is leaning closer still, upper body folded across the bar so that he’s getting right up in Mickey’s space.

It’s like Mandy isn’t even there.

“Look, I don’t give a fuck what you do after the game. You know where we live?” Mickey asks, and Ian nods. “I’ll be playing if you decide to show.” Because Mickey doesn’t fucking back down from a challenge, especially when it’s one he can easily win.

Ian just grins, and then there’s commotion behind him on the field, and he’s pulling back out of Mickey’s space. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Gallagher!” Some angry little blonde yells from the gaggle of cheerleaders, and Ian is jumping down from the railing and landing like a fucking cat. That’s some alien shit.

“See you later!” He calls as he runs away, and Mickey can really appreciate his ass in those cheer pants.

“Wait.” His eyebrows furrow, and he turns to Mandy, who looks incredibly bored and absolutely put out. “He’s a _Gallagher?_ ”

“He’s a fucking homo is what he is,” Mandy states plainly, mouth pulled into a thin line. “I can’t believe I was going to become a fucking cheerleader for that dick.”

“What’d I fucking say, huh?” Mickey slings his arm around his sister’s shoulders and starts to lead her away from this hell hole. “What finally clued you in?”

“He has the fucking hots for you.” Mandy sighs with aggravation. “Like what the _fuck?_ ”

“Woah, the _fuck_ you talking about?”

“Seriously?” Mandy eyes him judgmentally. “He was all over you. I’m surprised you didn’t kick the shit out of him.”

Sure, the guy had been like obnoxiously friendly and up in Mickey’s face, but since when does wanting to get your ass kicked at a video game mean _hey, let’s fuck?_

“I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Whatever. Can we stop and get some vodka and ice cream?”

Ian Gallagher shows up at their front door three hours later, still dressed in his fucking cheer uniform, and Mickey thinks that if Halo is some sort of gay cheerleader code for fucking, well. He’s not exactly about to say _no_.

**Author's Note:**

> [Read, Reblog, & Like on Tumblr](http://missmichellebelle.tumblr.com/post/96483354255/whats-green-gold-and-annoying-as-fuck)


End file.
